


Chaînés

by UninspiredPoet



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Casual Sex, F/F, Heavy Angst, Lesbian Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29393514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UninspiredPoet/pseuds/UninspiredPoet
Summary: Fareeha Amari is trying her best to deal with the loss of her mother. Her best just hasn't been working. Not for a while, anyway. But life goes on. Helix keeps her busy.She's surviving.Amélie Lacroix has some things of her own to deal with. Loose ends. Weaknesses. And she thinks Fareeha might be the key to everything.
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 18
Kudos: 20





	Chaînés

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nice-nereesa (vice_vereesa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vice_vereesa/gifts).



[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/161614435@N03/50937961252/in/dateposted-public/)

“Captain!” Tariq’s voice wasn’t louder than the din of the bar, but it was a voice that Fareeha was used to listening for over much louder noises and in much worse situations. Her eyes shifted to his familiar face as she tossed back her third shot of bourbon and pushed the glass aside, all while standing from her chair with a little smirk quirking the corners of her lips.

“Tariq,” She greeted warmly, leaning in as they gripped forearms and pulled each other close. “Your flight went well, I’m assuming. Eventually.”

“It did,” He said warmly, glancing quickly at the empty glasses on his captain’s table and then smiling at her. “You started without me.” 

“And I’m not the one who got delayed,” Fareeha drawled with a lift of one of her dark brows as she took her seat again. “And since you kept me waiting, you’ll have to get the next round. Physically, I mean. I have a tab.” 

“Without the whole unit to look after I had to do something to keep you on your toes all on my own or you would’ve lost your touch.”

Fareeha could only scoff and roll her eyes even though she liked him a great deal. Sometimes that was just the response he was looking for, anyway. 

Tariq was just as easy in her company as she was in his. 

That was good. It was nice. Nice to not be judged for how she spent her free time. Tariq wasn’t all that different, though. Fareeha watched him in amusement as he walked past a couple of tables a little slower than others. Smiled at a few people a little differently than he smiled at her. 

Fareeha, herself, hadn’t returned any garnered interest yet, tonight. She was a little tired. In a little bit of a take it or leave it kind of mood. Mostly, she wanted to get drunk enough that she’d sleep. Especially if she wasn’t taking anyone back to her hotel room. 

Her prospects weren’t great that night. She hadn’t been to Oslo in years, and she couldn’t even recall if she had any acquaintances here. It was like that a lot, lately. The longer she was with Helix the more the cities and the years seemed to blur together. Especially the past few. 

For various reasons. 

Just like she drank for various reasons. 

Her agitation with Tariq shifted into something more genuine as he paused at one of the tables he’d passed by a minute or two ago to chat with a young man who’d caught his eye. 

Maybe he could feel the way she was looking at him, maybe not. But he glanced in her direction and excused himself when he recognized that she was brooding at him. Not that she wasn’t constantly brooding at everyone. 

He placed her drink down in front of her and took a seat on the edge of the chair across the table to raise his brows at her curiously. 

“What?”

Fareeha just shook her head and pulled her glass closer to herself. “Nothing. You’ve only just arrived and you’re already flirting.” 

“‘Nothing’ and what came after it are two entirely different things, Captain,” He responded quietly after he downed half of his first drink. “Don’t be irritated with me because I’m cute.” 

Fareeha clenched her jaw, and Tariq nearly spit out the next sip he took of his drink. 

“You know, you might attract more women if you didn’t brood so much,” Tariq took the shot because it was right there, and Fareeha narrowed her dark eyes at him. 

“I have no trouble attracting women,” She said dryly, and Tariq acted surprised but only for a beat or two.

“You think I don’t know that? I just wanted to give you a reason to swing your dick around because you look a little sad. The brood is great. You know it, I know it. You don’t even need game with a brood like that.” 

“We’re here for a mission, remember,” Fareeha said with a sigh as she put down her now-empty glass and slid it in his direction. “I’m a few drinks ahead of you. Get me one more? I’ll leave you to it after that and you can keep my tab open. Just make sure you’re ready for tomorrow night. No hangovers.” 

Fareeha didn’t bother watching him this time. She turned her attention to her phone, resigned to not putting any further effort into brooding attractively. The night was a done deal as far as she was concerned. So done, in fact, that she didn’t question the fact that her drink was dropped off by one of the bar’s waitresses instead of Tariq. She didn’t even look up until she took her first sip and realized it was a double, and of significantly higher quality than her usual fare. 

She saw Tariq near the bar. Smiling handsomely at the current focus of his attention. 

She wouldn’t put it past him to show off like this in order to impress, and she loved him too much to ruin whatever game he was entertaining himself with. 

For every little detail Fareeha hadn’t noticed over the course of the evening, though, Amélie had noticed ten. 

It’d been so long, after all, since Amélie had seen her. So long that she almost hadn’t recognized her. She might not have, if it hadn’t been for the tattoo. So similar to her mother’s, yet unique. The nose. Sharp and strong and subtly hawk-like. 

The eyes. 

As dark as they were sharp. The eyes of someone who relied on their aim to stay alive.

Amélie could relate to that. To the first half, anyway. 

She was almost disappointed Fareeha hadn’t seen her tucked away in her corner. She’d hoped to be pursued tonight. It was so difficult to find the energy required to do the pursuing, after all. When she wasn’t compelled, at least. 

Amélie nearly smirked at her own inner use of that word. It was such a kind and pretty word for all of this. For what she was. 

Compelled. 

It tasted bitter when she thought it a second time, and she pushed the word away, entirely. Fareeha was moving, now. Touching her companion’s arm in greeting to tell him she was leaving. So familiar. So kind. 

Amélie didn’t care about her kindness. That wasn’t what she was after. She was after the kind of pain alcohol would never chase away. She knew because she’d been drinking all night to no avail. Not even a buzz. 

Amélie left cash on the table and slipped away from it easily - threading herself through the people towards her hapless target of interest. 

“Leaving without a thank you?” 

Fareeha faltered as she reached for the heavy brass handle of the door of the bar, and her brow furrowed as she turned her attention to the source of the question. 

“A thank you for what?” She asked with a faint smile when she caught sight of Amélie, only missing a beat or two in the conversation. 

So smooth. So easy. 

These observations flitted through Amélie’s thoughts behind her tinted glasses as she tilted her head and quirked the corner of her mouth into an almost-smirk. 

Performative. Feigned. 

“Your drink, ma cherie,” Amélie crooned. Her voice was quiet, but Fareeha was perceptive despite the haze of alcohol she was working under. She caught the smile. She caught the warmth in the words. She looked no further. Pried no deeper. “I asked your friend what you were drinking, and he graciously allowed me to buy your next round. I hope you enjoyed it.” 

Fareeha dropped her hand away from the door handle and adjusted her dark leather jacket as she turned to face the woman fully. “I did. What was it?” 

“Delamain cognac. Reserve de la Famille. An import, obviously.” 

“I wish I’d had a few less by the time it got to my table. You have a lot in common with the drink you ordered for me, then? ” Fareeha said, and Amélie exhaled softly. 

“You are very observant,” She teased, and Fareeha shrugged. 

“I try.”

“Take me wherever it is that you’re going and I’ll buy the bottle. You can try it again when you’ll appreciate it better,” Amélie didn’t falter. There wasn’t a hint of question in her voice, nor had it been a demand. It had come across, to Fareeha, like an observed inevitability. 

“Do you want to know my name, or do you plan to call me ‘ma cherie’ when we get where we’re going?” Fareeha asked in a low, soft tone. Amélie thought she should find this forwardness in return for her own attractive. Perhaps she did. Nevermind that she’d always known Fareeha’s name. Nevermind that her name and everything else she’d known about her had been on her mind from the moment she’d bought her plane ticket a few days prior. 

“Would you tell me your name in exchange for nothing?” Amélie asked, hoping her tone sounded as playful as she intended. Fareeha came across as someone who liked pretty, playful women who teased. She could be that. That was easy. “Or does it come with a price?” 

“Fareeha,” her response came with little hesitation. “I take it this means I don’t ask for yours.” 

“A fast learner,” Amélie complimented warmly as she reached past Fareeha for the door. “With a lovely name. Get us a cab, won’t you?” 

It turned out Fareeha had already ordered one. They were sitting in the back heading for Fareeha’s hotel a few minutes later. 

The decoy hotel. Amélie had recognized the address the moment Fareeha had given it to the driver. She’d been impressed by this then, and she still was, now. Amélie had three rooms in Oslo this week, herself. Fareeha didn’t know that, though. As Amélie looked over at her to watch the way the lights outside filtered across the distinctive profile of her face, she was only reassured that she knew nothing at all about who was sitting next to her. 

“Have you been in Oslo long?” Fareeha asked as the silence stretched on. 

Amélie reached over and rested one of her gloved hands against Fareeha’s thigh. Far too high to be considered too familiar. Fareeha didn’t mind. She didn’t want ‘familiar’. It was refreshing to recognize that in another person. 

“A few days,” Amélie responded, her tone rather flippant as she looked towards the rear-view mirror to see if they were being watched. “But we don’t need to talk about that, you know.”

“What would you like to talk about, then? We’re fifteen minutes away from the hotel.” 

_Nothing._

“What do you do? You sit too straight and drink too well to be in business.” Amélie asked in response, glancing sideways as Fareeha’s thigh shifted in her direction, allowing her to slip her hand a little further up the inside of it. 

“That must be the military background,” Fareeha said with a chuckle. “Still doing me a disservice.”

Smooth. Easy. 

Fareeha lied beautifully. 

“It makes you seem uptight. Coupling that with the tall dark and handsome thing only makes you more desirable. I wouldn’t be so sure it’s a disservice. I’m not convinced you believe that, to begin with.” 

Fareeha exhaled through her nose and looked down at the delicate, gloved hand now tracing the inner seam of her jeans. She sounded amused when she spoke next. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

“Nothing wrong with being sure of oneself,” Amélie said with a shrug. “We both know why we are in this cab. Another thing for you to be sure of. You could tell me what you usually do with the women lucky enough to share your bed, instead of pleasantries and small talk. Or is there someone back home, hm? And is that why you talk small? I don’t mind either way.” 

“There isn’t anyone back home, no,” Fareeha said quietly, and her eyes slipped shut for a moment as the woman’s fingertips grazed the fly of her jeans. “Since you asked, though, I fuck them.” 

“And what do they do for you?” the woman asked as she slowly trailed her hand back down along the seam she’d been toying with previously. 

“Depends on the woman,” Fareeha explained, her voice slightly raspy and breathless the next time she looked over. “Or are you looking for something more specific?” 

“I thought we were talking, that’s all,” Amélie teased with a little smile, still holding Fareeha’s gaze. She wondered if Fareeha found it unfair that she could see her eyes so clearly despite the fact that her own were obscured. She wondered if Fareeha was sober enough to care. 

“Is he watching us?” Fareeha asked, and Amélie shook her head faintly. 

“I don’t think he cares,” Amélie said. She could relate. She didn’t have to look down to notice Fareeha’s hand moving towards her across the center seat. She could feel it. The warmth of it. 

“I’m cold.” 

A warning. An excuse. A neat, tidy little statement that would evoke something predictable in Fareeha that would outweigh her desire to question. 

The protectiveness disguised with the hot velvet of the tone of her voice. 

“I’ll warm you up.” 

The earnestness in the furrow between her brows as she lifted the hem of Amélie’s dress and slid her hand along the bared skin of her thigh. 

“Come here.” 

It was like a symphony. Perfectly in-tune. Or perhaps just perfectly conducted. 

Amélie shifted closer and she realized for the first time that under the sharpness of the alcohol on her breath, Fareeha smelled good. She wouldn’t have expected anything else, and it wasn’t surprising. But she did. 

“I like your cologne,” Amélie remarked after leaning in to brush her lips in a feather-light touch along Fareeha’s jaw on her way to her ear. 

“It’s Dior,” Fareeha said, and Amélie could tell the next words wanted to come but didn’t. She brushed the bridge of her nose over the pulse point that was the source of the scent and smiled. 

“Bois d’Argent,” Amélie offered with an almost-laugh. “Am I too French for you that you can’t attempt to pronounce your own cologne?”

“No, I just wanted to spare you,” Fareeha murmured, and her breath caught as Amélie pressed an open-mouth kiss against the side of her neck. 

She liked the bitterness of the limonene on her tongue. The subtle burn. The way it mixed with the salt on Fareeha’s skin. 

She might have found Fareeha cute. Before. Charming, even. A long time ago. 

“Consider me spared, then,” Amélie murmured against the underside of Fareeha’s jaw. “Very chivalrous of you. Touch me. He isn’t paying us any mind.” 

“Here?” Fareeha asked, though there was little surprise in her tone. 

“Here,” Amélie responded without hesitating, lifting her head enough to brush her lips against Fareeha’s ear. “If you want.” 

Amélie exhaled softly when Fareeha first brushed her fingertips across the front of her silk panties. She pressed closer when they were pushed aside, because the touch was just so fucking hot. So overwhelmingly hot. 

This, at least, she could have. This little distraction. This moment of pleasure when time had begun to seem endless and meaningless long before tonight. They didn’t have any more of their drive left by the time she came. Only time enough for her to fix her own dress and suck Fareeha’s fingers clean before she got out of the cab and jogged around to Amélie’s side to open her door for her. 

Amélie didn’t comment on it. She just ran a hand down Fareeha's chest beneath her jacket as she shut the door and stayed close to her because it was cool out and that was what one did. 

They’d only just made it in the door when Amélie reached for the sides of Fareeha’s coat to pull her close. She’d seen the wheels turning behind her eyes. Best not to let her have to think about how to make this better. 

“I was going to put on some music,” Fareeha explained quietly, yet she was already pressing one of her thighs between Amélie’s legs. 

“You like to fuck to music?” Amélie asked, leaning her head back against the door when Fareeha pressed her face into the crook of her neck. 

“I don’t care either way,” came a quiet response against Amélie’s collarbone. 

“Good,” Amélie said as she pressed a hand against Fareeha’s stomach to push her back. “Let’s go to bed.” 

It wasn’t until they got there that the glasses finally came off. It wasn’t that Fareeha would’ve recognized her. Very few people would have, anymore. It was just habit. A small comfort. She took those where she could get them. 

She’d been expecting to undress herself fully, yet before she knew it Fareeha was reaching around her back to unzip her dress, leaving it to fall past her hips onto the floor. 

Fareeha’s jeans and her wool sweater should’ve felt rough against her skin, but they didn’t. 

“Do you believe in silver linings, Fareeha?” Amélie asked as the clasps of her bra came free. 

“No,” Fareeha said quietly as she slipped the straps from Amélie’s shoulders and tossed it onto the edge of the bed. 

“I don’t, either,” Amélie whispered, lifting both her hands up the front of Fareeha’s body along her stomach, drawing the hem of her sweater up along the way. The skin there was even hotter than Fareeha’s hands had been. It was almost pleasant, now, in the relative warmth of the hotel room. There was an undershirt beneath it. Soft cotton to save Fareeha’s skin from the wool, no doubt. A sports bra. All of them fell to the floor at almost the same time. 

Fareeha’s scars told a story only someone like Amélie would ever have been able to read, so she didn’t look at them. She just hooked her hands into the thick leather of her belt and held onto it for a moment as she found her face cradled in the warmth of Fareeha’s palms. 

Amélie wondered if she did this with everyone she fucked. If she kissed them when she didn’t want them to ask questions. When the last thing she wanted to provide was answers. 

Amélie didn’t have any questions and she certainly didn’t want answers, but Fareeha’s lips were soft and her tongue was a subtle, lingering present against her lips and sometimes the tip of her own. She enjoyed it. No point lying to herself about that. 

But then, she enjoyed all of this, really. One would have to be a fool to not appreciate this woman in all her strength and beauty when she was pressing you down onto the bed and spreading your thighs. When there were strong, competent hands all over you. Branding you. Drawing another orgasm from you. And another. 

By the time Amélie felt Fareeha’s hands trembling against her, she’d had more than enough. But even now, Amélie was polite to her bedpartners. Giving. And having Fareeha come undone beside her - so gone that her eyes were shut too tightly to see - was a vision. Now, Amélie took a moment to look at those scars. At the way each muscle tensed and tightened beneath her skin while Amélie’s hand worked tirelessly between her legs. 

It was difficult to wear this woman out, Amélie found. Something she wasn’t used to, anymore. 

She watched silently from the bed when Fareeha stood on legs that seemed shakier than she was letting on. She watched as Fareeha went for the little bottles of liquor in the suite’s fridge. Light. Dark. Pre-mixed. It didn’t seem to matter much. 

“Would you like a drink?” Fareeha asked as she unscrewed the cap on one of the bottles and turned to look at her. She was wearing a pair of sleep pants she’d only just unpacked. They hung off her hips rather attractively, in Amélie’s opinion. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Amélie offered up with a smile from where she was half-covered with a sheet on the bed. “I know you’re likely busy in the morning, yes? I’ll be gone before you wake.” 

She chuckled quietly when it looked like Fareeha was about to suggest otherwise, and shook her head. “No need. I have business in the morning, as well.” 

Fareeha seemed relieved, and Amélie gestured towards the bed next to herself. “You look like you need some rest.” 

“Maybe a little,” Fareeha admitted, and made her way back across the suite towards the bed - two of the little bottles clinking together in her palm as she walked. 

Whether it was the alcohol or the sex, Amélie couldn’t be sure. But Fareeha was out cold rather quickly. 

Amélie looked around the room. Nothing important. Nothing of value. Some clothes. A phone charger. 

The secondary, then. Smart woman. 

But Amélie wasn’t here for Talon. If she were, she wouldn’t be here, now. She’d be across town at a room that had been booked under an assumed name. A room that had nothing to do with Helix or Captain Amari. 

But Amélie was here for herself. And she would be gone just the same in the morning leaving only a hastily scribbled e-mail address on Fareeha’s end table, because she’d given her just enough. Just enough to know she would hear from her. Certainly not any time soon. But soon enough.


End file.
